


The Woodcutter

by Liminal_Space_LLC



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Check Please! (Webcomic), The Squire's Tales Series - Gerald Morris
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arthurian Mythology, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Lost, Jousting, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Magical Realism, Panic Attacks, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Training, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:11:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liminal_Space_LLC/pseuds/Liminal_Space_LLC
Summary: Bitty is on a morning run, trying a new path in the Samwell Woods, when he stumbles into a mysterious forest and a beautiful man with piercing blue eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

Bitty gets up early the next morning. He had strange dreams last night, of quarterback Jared at Madison Junior High in a hockey jersey rushing him, of Murray and Hall staring pityingly down at him. He knows why he’s having these dreams, and he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as golden light slowly fills the room.

He can’t lose his scholarship. He can’t afford Samwell without it. And he’s so happy here, with Ransom and Holster and his wacky captain Shitty. He feels like, in this place, he can _breathe._ No one is watching him, judging him. And if he goes back to Georgia…

He can’t go back to Georgia.

Finally he gets tired of spiraling though the same thoughts over and over again, so he pulls on sneakers and heads for his favorite running path. The air still has the tang of a cold night, and he breathes it deeply as he passes through the birch trees. He loves their strange pale bark and their slender bodies and golden leaves. When he runs through here, he feels like he’s stumbled into a watercolor painting.

He stops when he sees him—a stag, with huge black eyes and tall, arching antlers, standing elegantly in the middle of the path, gently lit by the autumn morning light. Bitty thinks he has never seen anything so ethereally beautiful.

Bitty stands as still as possible, trying to stretch out the moment, but a bird crows somewhere, and the deer is off. He looks up into the trees. “Darn it, bird, I was having a moment.”

He shakes his head and starts jogging again, but as he’s gaining speed, he notices a path he’s never seen before branching off his own familiar one. How has he never noticed it before now? He briefly considers the risks of getting lost, but he doesn’t have anything to do until 1 today, and the Samwell woods are tiny, and he’s having a shitty day, so he takes it.

It’s a weird path. It starts out normal, but the woods quickly grow thick, and the leaves here have not yet changed. The soil is dark and damp under his feet. He hears the twitter of a songbird, and suddenly remembers that all the pretty little birds left Samwell a month ago. Something is very wrong.

He turns—the path stretches out behind him, but he can’t see the orange trees of Samwell anymore. It’s just dark green woods. Shit.

“Hallo?” The voice comes from behind him. He freezes. If he’s in fucking Narnia or something, then anything and everything is extremely dangerous, and he should not look at it. He is no fool. He reads.

The voice speaks again, “Are you lost? If so, please let me ‘elp you. I know these woods quite well.” It belongs to a man, and, by the sound of it, a large man. He is so going to die.

Well, if he’s going to die, he might as well see what’s going to kill him. He turns, and, yes, it is in fact a large man. With a large, wild beard. Carrying a large, shiny axe. Welp, he had a nice life.

The man seems to notice him staring at the axe. “Oh, I am sorry! I did not mean to frighten you.” He places the axe gently on a tree stump by the side of the path. “I am a wood cutter. The axe is for trees, not for people.”

Bitty nods silently. Okay, so large woodcutter dude is probably not going to kill him. At least, not now.

The large man continues, “Are you ‘ungry? I have food in my house.”

Bitty’s stomach is very into this suggestion. He curses at himself for not eating a granola bar or something before leaving for his run, though, to be fair, he could not have anticipated the turn his jog would take. But he needs to eat, and, given that he’s now crossed into another world or something, he should take any chance he can get.

“Um, thank you, sir. That would be very nice.”

The large man nods and beckons for him to follow as he turns around and heads further down the path. He picks up his axe, which is concerning, but he attaches it to his belt, so maybe it’ll be okay? Bitty is kind of just making this up as he goes along.

They walk in silence for a little bit. The woods are thick, but pretty. The light is pleasantly green, and it’s nice to hear the sounds of songbirds again. Bitty shoots little glances at the woodcutter. He is tall, close to Ransom’s height, with long black hair, and he is _jacked_. Which, Bitty supposes, is part of the whole wood cutting deal, but he can’t help appreciating that the first person he meets in this place is hot. It’s a fringe benefit of wandering into a magical forest, he supposes.

Eventually, they arrive at the most adorable little cabin Bitty has ever seen. It has a tasteful amount of vines on it and a little garden growing next to it. There’s a pond nearby, and Bitty can see a cart by the pond’s edge filled with chopped wood.

“OMG, this is amazing. You live here?”

The large man nods. He sets down his axe and leads Bitty inside. The place is small, with a little hearth and a bed next to it. The center of the room is dominated by a rough-cut little table with one stool. There is one shelf with leather-bound books, but the walls are mostly decorated with hanging tools.

The man gestures to the stool, and Bitty sits, and watches as he pulls out a loaf of brown bread and a triangle of cheese and carefully cuts slices onto a plate and places it before him.

Then, for a moment, as Bitty begins to eat, the man seems unsure of what to do with himself. There is only one stool, and he looks around his house with evident desperation before finally remembering he has a bed and sits on it. Bitty giggles. The man blushes. He has clear blue eyes.

Now Bitty is blushing. He turns back to his bread. He scolds himself: noticing the eye color of strange men with axes living in magical woods is a dangerous game.

He glances over at the man, who is looking at him intently. They are very pretty eyes, though.

As soon as he looks over, the man looks down at his hands.

Bitty finishes his bread and cheese quietly, then turns to his host, who is now looking determinedly at the ceiling. “Thank you for the meal, sir. May I know your name?”

He looks back at Bitty, eyes wide with shock, as if this question were utterly unexpected. “Euh, my name is, euh–” he pauses, as if he has to think about it, “–Jacques.”

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Jacques. My name is Eric Bittle, but my friends call me Bitty.”

Jacques nods thoughtfully. Then keeps nodding. Bitty refrains from giggling again. This man is so weird, but it’s kind of great.

“Um, Jacques, where is this place?”

“The Delamere Forest.” Bitty stares at him blankly, so he continues, “In Britain. We are in country that was once the kingdom of Mercia.”

Thankfully Bitty knows one of those places. “’Kay, um…” he glances down at Jacques’s loose-fitting clothes. “What year is it?”

His brow furrows with concern. “It is the year of our lord four hundred and ninety-eight.”

“Oh.”

“Have you been lost for some time?”

“No, no, just…I’m not from around here.”

“Where are you from? I ‘ave never seen one dressed like you.” Bitty looks down at his Samwell hoodie and basketball shorts. He supposes he looks very exotic in this place.

He looks up at Jacques, who is still waiting for an answer. He has no idea what to tell this man. He doesn’t think anyone in Britain knew anything about the Americas in 498, and, also, he’s from the future, so…this is crazy. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Jacques shrugs. “I have seen many strange things in my life.”

He takes a deep breath and says carefully, “I am from a place across the ocean. It’s called Georgia, but right now—or, in my time—I am living in another place called Massachusetts to go to school.”

“In your time?”

“Um, yeah. I’m from the year twenty thirteen. I mean, the year of our lord two thousand and thirteen.”

Jacques’s jaw drops at that. “ _Vraiment?_  I mean, in truth?”

“Yeah—I, um, just ran here. I was in the woods in Massachusetts, and I went down a path, and met you.”

Jacques says something softly that sounds like “Putin.”

There is a pause as they stare at each other. Bitty is starting to realize how utterly strange this whole thing is. He is in England. Fifteen hundred years ago. He feels a pit of fear in his stomach. What if he is stuck here? He needs to go home. He needs to go to Samwell. Now.

“I need to leave. I need to go back.”

Jacques nods vigorously. “I will show you the way back to where I found you.”

They walk briskly. Every moment in this weird place is making Bitty more and more stressed out. The dark trees feel like they’re closing in on him. The forest sounds are frightening. The damp smell is pressing into him, making everything feel close.

“We are here.”

Bitty strides forward, one, two, three, past the stump he remembers from earlier, down the path. But the forest doesn’t change. After he walks forty feet and doesn’t arrive at Samwell, he turns back.

“It did not work?” asks Jacques when he reaches him.

He shakes his head. Goddamn. He is going to be stuck here forever. He kicks the tree stump in frustration. How is he going to live in 498?

Jacques is looking thoughtfully at him. “I know a little bit about magic. I have met a wizard.”

Bitty looks up at him, hope suddenly thrumming in his chest. “Yeah?”

Jacques nods. “Yes. And I have learned that magic usually has a purpose. Do you think there is a reason you came here?”

Bitty settles onto the stump. “I don’t know. I was just having a run in the woods. Nothin’ special.”

“Why were you running in the woods? Was something chasing you?”

“No, no…it’s a thing we do in the future. To be better at sports.”

“Sports?”

“Like, games?”

“Oh!” He seems to understand this concept. “What games do you show in?”

“Uh, hockey.” Jacques clearly does not recognize this word. Bitty supposes no kinds of hockey exist yet. “It’s a game on the ice, with a flat ball that you push around with sticks.” Suddenly, Bitty remembers last night, and his heart sinks still further. “Though I might not play it much longer.”

Jacques looks sympathetic. He sits down next to the stump. “Why?”

“In hockey, there’s this thing called ‘checking,’ where you hit other people to push them over.” Jacques nods. Bitty smiles to himself—sports have not changed that much, it seems. “But, I’m really bad at it. I freeze up whenever someone checks me. And my coaches might make me leave the team.” He sighs and buries his face in his hands. “And I can’t leave the team because if I leave the team I can’t go to school.”

He feels a little tap on his arm. He looks up. Jacques is gently patting his arm, clearly trying his best to comfort Bitty. It’s kind of sweet.

“I have played games like zat. I used to joust.”

“What’s jousting?”

Jack looks up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “It is on ‘orseback, you try to push the other person off their ‘orse with a lance.”

“Oh, cool.”

They sit in silence for a while as Bitty despairs about everything in his life.

Jacques breaks the quiet, “if you wish, I could help you practice. There are things we do for children, to help them not be afraid of jousting.”

“Oh, that’d be nice. I mean, if I ever get home. That’d be so helpful.”

“If you find a way home, you can come visit me.”

He looks down at Jacques, who is looking at him hopefully now. It’s really cute—he seems to like Bitty, for some reason. “Yeah, of course.”

Suddenly, a light appears in the corner of his eye. In the distance, far down the path, it’s as if a spot of golden-orange Samwell light has opened up.

“Oh lord, I think that’s it! I can see the way home!”

Jacques is looking searchingly into the woods. “I cannot see it, but it is not for me.”

Bitty stands up, but his Southern politeness keeps him tied to the spot, even though he is desperate to go. “Thank you so much. You’ve been so kind.”

Jacques stands up, too. “Of course. Please, come visit, if you can. Not many people come this way,” he smiles, “Especially people from the future.”

Bitty takes one long look at the very handsome woodcutter with the blue eyes. Even though this place scares him, he can’t help but want to come back. He wants to see this man again. “I’ll try.”

He heads back down the trail, into the light of Samwell. When he looks back, he gets one glimpse of Jacques, waving gently at him, before he nearly runs into a tree.

He’s back on his usual path. The light has hardly changed since he left. Everything is the same, though when he looks for the spot where the path to medieval Britain had been, all he sees is brush and trees.

He takes a deep breath and goes on to finish his run.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Kent = King Arthur
> 
> I promise it will make sense! Also, content warnings at the end.

After afternoon practice, when Bitty has almost convinced himself the whole magical woods thing that morning was some kind of hallucination, Shitty finds him. “Hey bro, you wanna go for a walk?”

Bitty knows what this ‘walk’ is about, and he tries to say, “I’m so sorry Shitty, I have, uh, office hours—”

“Then I’ll walk you to office hours!” Shitty grins warmly at him and wraps an arm around his shoulders and starts walking him toward campus. “Bitty, my man, I feel like, we haven’t like, _really_ talked in forever. Tell me about your life. How’s freshman English? Is Professor Hsu as much of a beast as I remember?”

Bitty sighs internally. “Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

They walk generally toward Founders, talking about homework and classes, and Shitty gets him talking about the merits of canned versus of fresh pumpkin in pie, but when they’re in view of the library, Shitty puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Bits. There was something I wanted to ask you about.”

Bitty’s heart sinks. He knew this was coming.

Shitty continues, “I know Hall and Murray talked to you about checking yesterday, and I wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Bitty replies too quickly.

Shitty just looks concerned. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to let you know that if you can’t play, I will fucking fight for you. If you need to stay on the team for any reason, we’ll find a fucking way.”

“Don’t worry, Shitty. I have it figured out,” Bitty assures him. What in the Lord’s name is he saying? He does not have anything figured out.

“Really?”

Bitty smiles. “Yeah. I’m meeting up with a friend to work on it.” He is such an idiot. Mysterious men in magical woods do not count as friends. And what if he can’t find Jacques again? He is a dead man.

But Shitty is grinning and shaking his shoulder. “That’s ‘swawesome, bro. Well, I’ll let you get to your office hours. See you at the Haus for game night tonight?”

“Yeah. I’ll be seeing you,” Bitty says dolefully as Shitty walks away, leaving him to his non-existent office hours. He looks up at one of the bronze busts that decorate the Founders staircase. It’s giving him a judgmental look. “Well, shit, you weren’t helping me, were you?” He shoots the statue a dark look and sits on the steps of Founders to try to figure out what the hell he’s going to do.

***

He doesn’t go back to the woods for a few days, hoping maybe the issue will just resolve itself. It seems totally absurd to be relying on a guy who probably doesn’t even exist to solve all his problems. But when he just barely avoids blacking out at practice, he knows he needs to at least try. The alternative is telling Shitty he needs to fight the university to keep his scholarship, which would not be fun.

So, on Saturday morning, he pulls himself out of bed early and dresses in his nice new Samwell sweats and jogs into the woods again. The morning is frigid today, and his lungs feel like he’s breathing icicles. The woods are lovely, though. The maples are starting to turn ruby red, and the leaves are crisp underfoot. He’s starting to plan his afternoon baking project—he’s thinking scones—when something grabs at the hem of his sweatpants.

He stumbles and tumbles onto the ground, and suddenly something cold and wet is pressing into the bare skin of his lower back. Bitty screams with shock and scrambles to his feet to face his attacker.

It’s a dog, with floppy brown ears, wagging excitedly and head butting his knees. It looks kind of like an overgrown beagle.

“Hello?” Bitty says cautiously. He doesn’t know much of anything about dogs, but the dog keeps wagging and nuzzling his legs, so he supposes it’s probably not dangerous. Maybe it wasn’t trying to trip him up. Maybe it was just on a morning run, like him, and got over excited. He looks around for an owner, but he’s alone in the woods with this dog. It’s not wearing a collar. Maybe it lives near here?

He shakes his head. He can’t start worrying about random dogs. He’s on a mission. He turns and starts his run again, but the dog runs forward and passes him, as if they are running together, which is strange. It runs just ahead of him, until it turns down a side path and disappears.

Bitty keeps running and tries to force himself not to worry about this random overly friendly dog, but he can’t help glancing down the side path to see where it’s gone.

His jaw drops. It’s the shadowy green woods where Jacques lives. Did some random dog get stuck in Medieval England? Lord, he does not have time to chase down dogs when he’s supposed to be learning how to take a check.

He runs down the side path, watching the trees shift from sunlit autumnal woods to heavy green forest. As soon as he’s in the forest, the dog comes flying at him, barking like mad and trying to lick his face. It knocks him to the ground for the second time in ten minutes.

A deep laughing voice calls, “Down, girl, down. Let him breathe.”

The dog climbs off him, though she hovers over Bitty, panting and wagging her tail. Bitty looks up to see Jacques, smiling gently down at him. “Is this your dog?” Bitty asks, somewhat indignantly. His sweats are now covered in dirt.

Jacques nods. “She is mine. Her name is Coquelicot.”

“Cokely-coke?” Bitty is pretty sure he’s saying it wrong, but Jacques just smiles at Bitty shyly and doesn’t say anything.

The pause stretches on awkwardly, and Bitty grabs at something to say. “Why is she named Cokely-coke?”

“Euh,” Jacques looks down at the dog. “The _coquelicot_ is a red flower, and she is a red dog.”

The dog looks brown to Bitty, but he’s not about to point that out. “That’s cute. Um, how old is she?”

“She has four years,” Jacques replies proudly. Suddenly Bitty is reminded of the very pressing reason he ran into the Samwell woods.

“Um, Jacques?”

“Yes?”

Bitty stares at the dog, who’s now snuffling at the ground. “So, last time I came here, you said you might know how to practice checking. Would you, like, still be willing to do that?”

Jacques nods seriously. “ _Bien sûr_. I have found a place for practice.”

Together they walk down the path, followed by the dog, which keeps darting out into the woods then running back to bark happily at them and lick Jacques’s fingers.

Jacques keeps looking at him and giving him awkward little smiles. Bitty smiles back every time, confused. Does this guy just not talk?

“Um, so Jacques,” he says after the fifth time the guy just looks at him, “How did you learn to joust?”

“It was part of my battle training when I was a child,” Jacques says, as if that is a perfectly normal thing to say.

“Your battle training?! Like, for war?”

Jacques nods. “Yes. I was a general for my father, King Ban of Benoic, then I was a knight for King Kent of the Britons.”

Bitty nearly chokes on air. _King Kent_. Good Lord. “Like, you were a knight of the Round Table?!”

Jacques nods, as if being a knight of the Round Table is a perfectly ordinary thing.

“But why are you a woodcutter if you could a knight of the Round Table?!” Bitty isn’t big on British history, but he’s pretty sure being a _knight of the Round Table_ is more glamorous than cutting wood.

Jacques’s face turns stony, and he shrugs noncommittally. The silence stretches on, and Bitty swallows and stares at his feet. Shit, he’s already offended his host, and he’s only been here for five minutes.

They walk for a few more minutes, passing by Jacques’s house, not talking until the trees thin. They are in an adorable little field; in the distance, he can see sheep grazing, looking as if clouds had descended from the sky to kiss the ground. Immediately, Coquelicot starts barking and bounding toward the sheep, but Jacques yells, “ _Coquelicot, non! Viens ici!_ ” The dog turns to stare at them dolefully, but Jacques calls to him in French again and the dog runs back, whining. Jacques looks over at Bitty and says solemnly, “She loves the sheep.”

Bitty giggles despite himself, not quite sure if that was a joke, but Jacques gives him another little smile. Bitty can’t help but notice that his blues crinkle sweetly when he smiles.

“Bitty,” Jacques starts—though with his accent he says it like “Bee-tee” and it’s adorable—“I will go into the field, and we will run at each other. Then, when we pass we will,” he pauses and speaks to himself rapidly in French, then says “we will go—” and he claps his hands together.

Bitty nearly faints on the spot. This guy wants to skip straight into running at each other? Like football, but without the pads? That’s worse than checking! “Um, could we start smaller? That doesn’t seem very safe…what if we hit our heads together?!”

Jacques’s forehead crinkles. “ _Non_.” He claps again. “ _Comme ça._ _Mais, non._ ” He shakes his head. Bitty has no idea what’s going on. Jacques stares at him desperately, then he grabs Bitty’s wrist. “Like this.” He holds up Bitty’s hand and gives him a high-five.

“OOOHHH. We’ll run by each other and do a high-five! I get it. That’s okay.” Bitty’s not sure he can do that, but he’s willing to try.

Jacques smiles and jogs across the field, with Coquelicot following at his heels. “You are ready?” calls Jacques.

“Ready,” he yells back. He hates that his voice shakes. It’s just, Jacques is the right size for a football player. Coach would look at a boy like that and instantly try him out for quarterback, especially if he’d found out he’d been a goddamned _general_. Oh, lord. This is so much.

Jacques starts running, and Bitty is startled out of his train of thought, and he starts running, too. Jacques is just going at a gentle jog, but he’s getting closer and closer, and he looks very serious and if they hit it’s going to hurt so bad and Bitty’s heart is racing and he can’t breathe.

Bitty dives to the side and collapses on the ground, gasping for air. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. He can distantly hear the dog whining.

“ _Tu vas bien? Es-tu blessé?_ ” Jacques is kneeling next to him. “I am sorry! You are hurt?”

Bitty looks up, panting. Jacques looks terrified. The dog presses his nose into Bitty’s face and licks him. Jacques calls the dog back in French, and Bitty sits up. “I’m sorry, Jacques. I just got a little scared. I’m alright.”

Jacques continues staring at him, his eyes wide. “My apologies, Bitty. I should not have done that. When you are better, we can do something else.”

Bitty nods and sits back on his heels, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe slowly. He reaches out to scratch Coquelicot’s ears. After a few minutes he has his breathing under control. His pulse has calmed down. He listens to the sheep bleating in the distance. He opens his eyes. The sun has come out, and the grass is dappled with cloud shadows.

He looks over at Jacques, who is watching him, with a fearful look in his eye. “Hey, sorry, Jacques.”

Jacques shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I should not have scared you.”

Bitty smiles and closes his eyes again. He wishes he could just tell Jacques they can stop, but he knows he has to keep going. He has a scholarship on the line.

He stands up and looks down at Jacques. “What’s the other thing we can do?”

Jacques meets his eye. “Are you sure?”

Bitty nods, and Jacques starts talking him through a drill in which Jacques will stand still and Bitty will run at him, “and then you strike me with this as you pass me.” He leans down and plucks a long blade of grass then holds it out to Bitty. “Is that alright?” he asks, looking cautiously at Bitty.

Bitty gives a curt nod. He can do this. Or, at least, he has to try.

Jacques marks a spot in the grass with his foot where Bitty will start, then jogs across the field. This time, Coquelicot stays with Bitty and watches him carefully. He’s glad he doesn’t have to do this alone.

He gives her a final good luck pat on her velvet soft ears before turning to face Jack. He takes a deep breath, grips his blade grass, and yells, “Ready?”

Jacques calls back, “Ready.”

Bitty takes one more breath and starts running toward Jacques, going a little faster than a jog. Coquelicot runs alongside him, barking excitedly

In a heartbeat, Jacques is just ahead of him, and Bitty is sure he’s going to run into him. He sticks out the grass and squeezes his eyes closed and forces himself to keep running. He feels the grass bend in his hand and shit he’s going to crash shitshitshitshitshit…

But he keeps running. No collision.

He opens his eyes and finds himself running through the field, no Jacques to be seen. He turns and sees Jacques behind him, right next to the spot where he was standing, smiling at him. “Excellent!” He must have stepped away at just the right moment.

Bitty bends down and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself and lets the dog lick his face. That wasn’t so bad. “Yeah. Excellent.”

Jacques waits a minute for Bitty to stand up. When he looks back, Jacques is watching him soberly. “Again?” Jacques asks.

Bitty nods and jogs back to the spot Jacques marked for him. He can do this. He can do this. He can do this.

They practice with the blade of grass for a while, Jacques stepping aside at the last minute every time, even when Bitty starts full-on sprinting. When Bitty can do it at full speed with his eyes open, they graduate to having Bitty tap Jacques’s shoulder as he runs past. After that, they switch to Bitty giving Jacques a high-five every time. That takes a little while to get used to—there’s something very different about having an intense hit, even though it’s just on his hand.

Eventually, though, Bitty doesn’t even flinch at the high-five, and after they’ve high-fived ten times, Bitty flops onto the ground with Coquelicot, both exhausted from all the sprints. Jacques gives him a broad smile. “Next time, you will hit me with your shoulder. I will bring my armor, though–” he cocks his head thoughtfully, “–it will be a little big for you.”

Bitty laughs breathlessly. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring my hockey pads.” Jacques looks confused, so he explains, “It’s like armor. We wear it for hockey.” Jacques nods thoughtfully, and Bitty laughs again. He can’t believe he and this medieval knight have things in common.

After Bitty gets his breath back, Jacques takes him back down the path, past his house, until they stop by the tree stump again. Bitty can see the orange glow of the Samwell woods in the distance.

“I will see you soon?” Jacques asks him. He thinks Jacques’s face is ever so slightly pink, and Bitty’s heart starts beating fast again.

“Um, yeah. Very soon!” he says, grinning like a fool. He gives Coquelicot’s ears one last scratch and runs back to the woods of Samwell thinking of nothing but clear blue eyes, crinkled in a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: implication of past bullying trauma, intense scenes of a person being triggered and having a mild panic attack
> 
> Don't worry, all of you Lancelot/Guinevere shippers, that happened, too. There was definitely a sharing situation between King Kent and Queen Guinevere. Our dear Lancelot du Jacques was getting a lot of loving before things went south.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to see more stuff by me, I am [liminal-space-llc](https://liminal-space-llc.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
